Red Ledger
by canaryhowl
Summary: Day after day, more red accumulates in her ledger. Her life as a spy is filled with murder and exotic locations, but is this the life she's meant to lead? And can someone with so much red in her ledger redeem herself? Hawk/Widow pre-movie origin story


Author's Note: I tried to make this chapter as authentic as possible, so all of the dialogue is in French. I don't think you need to understand what they are saying to understand the story because the narration is all in English. Please review!

Pairing: Future Black Widow/Hawkeye

Warning: violence

Red Ledger

Prologue

France

Natasha stretched her lean muscles, easily reaching her toes. She had a dancer's body which could be attributed to years of training in acrobatics and fighting.

The scowling, dark haired man held up three fingers. This was her signal to get ready. She only had three minutes, but she was used to fighting against time. Before she knew it, he was beckoning her to go, and she ran forward, leaping and spinning in the air. She pirouetted, landing gracefully in the center of the stage, to much applause. The curtain fell, and the girls rushed backstage. Many of them collapsed onto the floor, exhausted, but Natasha had more decorum than that. She easily stepped around them, and walked into the dressing room. Only one girl had beat her there.

« Vous étiez magnifique, Anna! » Sophie told Natasha, grinning broadly. She was a young girl, fifteen to Natasha's seventeen, and she was the daughter of an influential French businessman. There were…rumors about him, but they had never been confirmed.

Natasha pulled her long red hair out of its ponytail and took the seat next to Sophie. « Merci, beaucoup. Tu es une belle danseuse aussi. Ton père sera fier de toi. »

« Il n'est pas venu. » Sophie wiped away a stray tear. Before every recital, her father would say that he was coming, but he never followed through. Natasha knew the feeling.

Frowning, Natasha produced a tissue and handed it to the girl. This was their final performance of the season, and once again, Natasha was running out of time.

« Il m'a dit qu'une vraie femme danse. Il est la seule raison que je danse, mais il ne vient jamais à mes récitals. » Sophie looked at Natasha, her eyes full of hopefulness. « Mon père m'a dit que je pouvais amener des amis pour lui chez nous. Est-ce que vous voulez venir ? »

Pausing a moment for good measure, Natasha responded with a simple, « Oui. »

Still in their tutus, Sophie dragged Natasha toward the exit, where her chauffeur was waiting with the car. Natasha joined Sophie in the back seat, giggling at the younger girl's small talk while spending most of the car ride staring out the window at the Paris cityscape. Paris was a lovely city, and Natasha had half a mind to open the car door, jump out, and lose herself in the wonders of the City of Light. But she didn't. She had her hand on the door handle, but she released her grip and stayed in the car. They left the city and the landscape transformed into fields of open land.

« Anna, nous sommes arrivés. C'est ma maison. »

It was a true mansion, almost a castle. The servants' quarters were off to the side, but the main estate was vast, towering above their heads. They entered through large wrought iron gates, but not before passing through security. Burly, armed men stood in front of the gate, and at various other points along the fence.

In front of the servants, and in Sophie's home, Natasha decided to address the girl a bit more respectfully. « Vous ne m'a pas dit que vous habitez dans un château. »

Sophie's face reddened, and Natasha rolled her eyes. The butler led them into a large office, where a tall man with carefully styled hair and hardened features stood. He wore a pressed suit, and looked perfectly clean and pressed except for one thing: the handkerchief in his front pocket. It was stained red with blood. The servant immediately excused himself, leaving the two girls alone with the man.

« Papa, » Sophie greeted, « Voilà Anna. »

Her father nodded at Natasha before addressing his daughter. « Je suis désolé. Je voulais assister au récital, mais… » He stopped talking. Blood trickled down from the corner of his lips onto the ornate carpet below. Natasha pulled out knife and wiped the blood on the man's suit jacket.

The room was silent, except for the incessant dripping of blood, and Sophie stood staring at the girl she thought to be her friend. She was shocked, stunned, and at a loss for words.

Natasha reached forward and took Sophie's face in her hands, stroking her cheek. « Il savait nos secrets, mais il ne pouvait pas connaître nos secrets, » she explained.

Sophie's eyes brimmed with tears, but Natasha could not let her cry out. She could not let anyone live to recognize her face in the future. The slash across the throat was quick, and Sophie did not have to suffer. Natasha wiped the blade on Sophie's leotard, cleaning off the blood, and she replaced the knife on the inside of the waistband of her tutu.

As she exited the estate, Natasha found that the security was awfully polite to the family's guest, and they let her leave without searching her or asking questions. Although, they were in the middle of the countryside, and as she had no means of travel, they did not expect her to get far.

She was more resourceful than she looked.

Next Chapter: Natasha travels to the United States for the first time. She cannot have feelings for her target. She can never see her target as another human being, but she seems something in this one, something that could change everything for her. Is this love, or is she being used once again?


End file.
